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‘You don’t have to be scared,’ Augustine rumbled at her back. ‘It’ll all be okay. We’re going to do this together, understand?’
Tears prickled against her closed lids. He was the one who didn’t understand. He didn’t know the kind of woman he held in his arms, the kind of woman who’d be his child’s mother. A killer.
No. Your moment is over.
She tensed and tried to pull away, to get some distance, but those strong arms only tightened still further, keeping her against him.
‘Don’t.’ There was a soft growl of warning in his voice. ‘I want to know what’s going on, Freddie. Because something is. Something you’re not telling me.’
‘There’s nothing—’
‘You were afraid yesterday. I could see it in your eyes. And it’s not just about the prospect of marrying me, is it?’
‘I don’t—’
‘Winifred.’ Her name was a soft command. ‘I’m not going to let this go, so you might as well tell me.’
He was right. There wasn’t any point fighting him. He was relentless when he wanted to know something and she couldn’t face yet another brutal enquiry.
You can’t escape. You have to face the consequences of your actions.
A shudder went down her spine. It was true, she did. She had to give him the truth and hope he wouldn’t summarily dismiss her from his and their child’s lives. And if he did, well... It was no less than what she deserved.
Swallowing, Winifred steeled herself. ‘I’ve been lying to you, sir,’ she said. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’
He didn’t move. ‘How very mysterious of you.’ There was the slightest thread of amusement in his voice. ‘So are you going to tell me who you really are? And if so, do I need to be afraid?’
Winifred jerked herself out of his arms, and turned around, shivering in the cold dawn air. ‘It’s not funny. I’m being serious.’
The expression on his face betrayed nothing, his gaze cool. ‘Then you’d better explain, hadn’t you?’
She took a little breath. ‘Winifred Scott isn’t my real name and I’m not from England. My name real is Ellie Jones, and I was brought up in the desert near LA, in a trailer park. My mother was a small-time drug dealer, and I...I did something very bad, which resulted in me having to leave.’
He was silent, continuing to study her.
‘I’ve been on the run for years,’ she went on doggedly, because she had to now. ‘I got a forged passport, left the States, found my way to England. I spent some time doing jobs for cash and scraping a living, but I knew that if I wanted any kind of life, I was going to have to do better than that. So I...got a forged degree and some more fake qualifications, some fake references, and I...’
‘Got a job here with me?’ he finished lightly, his voice betraying absolutely nothing.
She met his gaze squarely. ‘Yes. Someone I knew, a cleaner at the Isaveran embassy in London told me about the position and so I applied.’
‘I see.’ He folded his arms. ‘Well, my security team did tell me that there were some red flags coming up in your CV, but I told them to disregard them. I needed a PA urgently and you were perfect for the job. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.’
‘Sir, I—’
‘So, what was the bad thing you did, Freddie? Or should that be, Ellie?’
Her eyes filled with tears again. Because there was no running from it, no escaping it. She’d tried to put it behind her for years, but you couldn’t put a murder behind you. You couldn’t.
‘I’m not Ellie anymore,’ she said huskily. ‘I shot someone. And he died.’
Augustine stilled, looking so deeply into her it felt as if he could see everything she was, every dark and terrible thought she’d had. Every moment she lost her temper and that fury of hers got out. The fury that had killed Aaron.
‘And why did you shoot him?’ Augustine asked.
‘He was... He...’ She swallowed, trying to go on, but she hated the memory of it. Of her sisters crying as the door of the trailer had been wrenched open and Aaron had sauntered in. Their mother had been having one of her parties in the scraggly, dusty yard outside, and the music had thumped. No one would hear them if they screamed and Aaron knew that.
He’d been her mother’s boyfriend for years, and he’d been a constant source of anxiety for her and her sisters. The way he looked at them, the way he spoke to them, was just...wrong. He was a threat, a constant threat.
